Death Has No Dominion
by tigersbride
Summary: You're not quite sure why you're here, why you needed to do this, but you've arrived and now you're wondering if you're making a mistake, if you made one getting on the plane.
1. Chapter 1

**I hate the BBC. **

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You're not quite sure why you're here, why you needed to do this, but you've arrived and now you're wondering if you're making a mistake, if you made one getting on the plane. You'd played with the idea for days, you weren't sure you'd ever actually do it.

The loss you feel can't be explained, no words can be given to the grip this sadness has on your heart, tearing at your every sinew. First your father, then Harry, and now the person you thought of as your father. The cold of the airport chair, the metal touching your legs, is just another reminder that you're alive in a life you no longer want to live. Why should you bother? Everyone you've ever loved has left you or made you watch them die. Why allow yourself to love at all? _Death has no dominion._ You remember bitterly. It certainly has dominated your life. You fail to notice the looks from passers by, it takes a kind stranger's question to stir you from your despair. You shake your head and they leave you in peace, but your consciousness is aroused. As you slowly take in your surroundings, notice your tears on your legs and the floor, you start to accept what you need to do.

You've come all this way, after all.

You take a deep breath as you dial the horribly unfamiliar numbers you were left in a paper note, the first time you've entered them. You knew it was never going to be easy to forget Harry, no matter how hard you'd tried. Jack had helped, his presence and volatile personality had kept your mind occupied more than you could have hoped. The dial tone plays a few times and you suddenly realise the possibility that he may not answer, that he may not be in town, may not be ready to drop everything for you. _You're not in his life now._ Your fears silence as you hear a click and a voice you weren't ready to give up greats you.

"Harry Cunningham." He states casually. You swallow and your mouth starts to garble out parts of the speech you'd half prepared, failing miserably.

"I need you, I'm in the airport, please come."

"- Who? Nikki?" His surprise is audible, and you can picture the shock written all over him, imagine the widened, dark eyes and the firm jaw, stiff, perfect cheekbones. You can almost feel his fingers clenching the phone.

"It's me." You whisper. You're crying again, harder this time, and you don't know if he can tell but he's agreeing to come, he's actually agreeing. Maybe he can feel your disbelief, but you can hear him reassuring you and you can hear movement. He hangs up and it feels like he's never been there at all, his dulcet tones are almost forgotten, and you doubt he'll ever come for you. The sadness and the cold that has overwhelmed your heart for the last few weeks is beckoning and you're not strong enough to fight back. Why can't you be strong?

The funeral took all the strength you didn't know you had, depleted your stores at a cellular level, wasted energy you need just to remember to breathe. Nothing matters anymore, not even breathing. At least you wouldn't be as alone in death as you are now. You realise you're tired, your eyes closed moments ago without your permission. You're so tired. When did you sleep? You can't remember ever sleeping soundly. Happiness is a lifetime ago. Your ears prick when you hear someone near you mention words that you wish didn't exist. _Army. Afghanistan. War._ Words so painful to you that you close down completely, practically in fetal position, sobbing on your cold chair. You remember why you don't sleep. A bright red fire burns through your vision and poisons your emotions, a feeling of dread accompanied by a covering of dust and oh so many screams. Jack's arms restrained you but all he's doing is holding your pain inside you. If he'd let you go you'd be dead too, and maybe that would have been better. You'd be one of the ones underground, and Harry would live on, unaware, happy.

How long has it been now since your phone call? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Every day feels like an eternity but every second finishes before it starts Time has no meaning to you any more, just as death holds no fear. _Death has no dominion. _

"Nikki." The voice is stern but warm, and it almost tempts you to open your drained eyes. A hand finds your cheek and it somehow calms you enough to push against it. The thumb brushes against your eye gently and you open it to see his concerned gaze from where he's crouched in front of you. He pulls you towards him, and you don't have any strength to resist. You can't be strong for anyone now. It feels nice to have a shoulder to sob on, and you're sure you've soon soaked his jacket through. His lips are pressed continually against your hair and forehead and you eventually find yourself remembering why you came here in the first place, to feel him again. He is everything you need to get better.

"What is it?" He prompts, encouraging the formation of fresh tears. The moment you'd been dreading finally arrives and you cough before you can speak. You force your eyes open and pull your gaze into his, allowing him a rare glimpse into the soul you'd worked so hard to protect, exposing him to your vulnerability and despair.

"Leo's dead."


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for your kind reviews! Hope you enjoy!

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Two words are all it takes to silence him. Two different words were the last you said while your soul was alive. _Leo. No!_

Harry's arms are around you protectively and his hands drag the sobs from your body, pressing against your back. You'd have thought you'd be too dehydrated now to cry, you haven't exactly been keeping yourself alive on purpose. The faint thud of a headache is the last thing on your mind, but you'll never know if you're dehydrated, overtired, or it's simply an echo of the pain your heart feels. You vaguely realise that Harry hasn't said anything, and if you're not mistaken your hair feels a little damp. Whether your tears or his, it doesn't matter. The sorrow you feel emanating from him is strangely comforting, and his pain is the only thing that tells you Leo was real, and somehow that's enough to cling to. Your painful isolation is dissipated for now.

You don't know how long passes but after a while he pulls away from you, his eyes once again boring into your own. You hadn't even realised that you'd rebuilt your shields, but it had taken everything to move it away for him. You notice the clusters of water on his eyelashes and the redness of his nose and remember the few times you've ever seen him cry, and how you used to be everything to each other. _The first person I call is you._ Where did that go? While Leo had always been important to you, you hadn't realised until now how much you'd depended on him after Harry had left you. Maybe that's why you're here. You still haven't worked that one out.

Fingers touch yours and gently entwine, your consciousness not even aware of the standing hairs on your neck. Harry stands and pulls you up. You wonder how he manages to puppeteer you so well but you fall into his arms regardless. Slowly, he walks you out of the airport and to his car where he helps you in, in silence. _Silence. _That's all that's left of the shell of your friendship, silence, but despite it he's taking you in, rescuing you from yourself and the turmoil he abandoned in London. Despite the silence, he still knows what you need better than you do. You catch sight of your face in the wing mirror and ask yourself when you became so pale and empty, so frail. Your dampened hair clings loosely to the side of your ghostly face and you realise that's all you've become, a ghost of your former self, abandoned by everything important to you.

Harry's driving now. You didn't notice the car starting but he's still not saying anything and you recognise in him the strength you drew up for Leo's funeral. You wonder why he's already using his reserves. You don't know where you're going and you've never been to New York before now. You don't know where he works or even where he lives but after a little while he parks outside an apartment building and climbs out, coming round to you to help you up, as if he knows you can't manage it yourself. Maybe this is why London has been so difficult since Leo died, because you can't let yourself be so vulnerable around anyone but Harry.

He leads you to an elevator and hits the button for the 8th floor, arm and jacket wrapped around you. Are you cold? You didn't notice. The jar of the elevator as it stops makes you stumble and he extends his spare arm to keep you safe. You turn left from the lift and stop outside a door where he fumbles with his key in the lock until it springs open. Wordlessly he guides you inside and onto the sofa as he rummages through cupboards and wardrobes until he comes back with a spare pillow and a duvet, which he drapes around you before he sits himself down next to you and pulls you against him again.

You didn't know you could miss someone's smell so much.

You lie together for a while, slouching, entangled on his sofa in silence, and gradually your closed eyes start to dream, managing to forget, if only momentarily, the fire and flames that have haunted you since you returned. Instead, your mind treats you with memories of a happier life, before it turns to taunt you with fantasies that never were and never will be.

You only wake when Harry shifts and you move to look up at him, the first voluntary movement since you told him the news. His closed eyes open when he sense your gaze and they look down on you sadly. You look to the ceiling when you realise you've reached the time for talking, but he guides a hand through your hair to comfort you. Another look at him and you know you've guessed correctly. He wants to know what happened but he's too scared to ask how. You turn your body so that you're looking his way, and hate that you're losing even more water to your tears.

"We were in Afghanistan." You whisper. He stares at you and his eyes are questioning, imploring you to tell him why but aware that he'll disagree with any reasons you had. If you'd told him before he'd have convinced you otherwise, he'll argue, Afghanistan isn't safe, and Leo is proof of that. "On a case."

Rather than argue he looks down and his expression reflects that of a disappointed parent, but you somehow sense that his disappointment isn't directed at you or Leo. You take a moment to breathe before you can talk again and you feel his hand return to yours under the quilt, giving you his strength.

"There was a suicide bomber. He saved all of our lives." You break down as you remember his sacrifice, everything he'd given up to save you, Jack, his new woman, and the civilians. The tears fall between your parted lips and the taste of salt has you coughing. Harry leans into you again, pressing his forehead on yours as you look past his own tears into his emotions and see the sadness and distress buried within his facade. He pulls into an embrace, lips brushing against your cheek as he passes it. Your tears slowly cease and he lets you fall back slowly against the back of the sofa, looking at you sadly, hand still clutching yours.

He lets go when the unfamiliar beeping of his phone fills your ears, and he drags it out of his pocket, rubbing his eyes in agitation when he looks at the caller ID.

"Work" He says quietly and lifts the phone to his ear. You watch as he apologises to the person on the end of the line and says that he will not be in work for a few days. "Family emergency" He adds. The corners of your mouth automatically lift at that and you're almost surprised you haven't forgotten how to smile. A gentle lightness fights the dark in his eyes as he watches your expression change. You realise you like how he called you family, as if you belong to something. He tosses the phone gently onto the floor and takes your hand again. His expression darkens as he sighs and you know he wants to talk. Somehow being here with him gives you the willpower to keep going, and you feel able to discuss how you're feeling.

"I wondered why he hadn't emailed me back." He admitted quietly. You hadn't realised they were in contact, and it stung a little to know that they still talked while the two of you had somehow cancelled your friendship contract the moment he boarded the plane. He turns to look at you and sees the unmistakable jealousy and remaining anger left from his departure. You can only just hold it together over Leo, forget trying to deal with your denial over Harry leaving you.

"I wanted to talk to you." He whispers and you break your gaze. "I just didn't know what to say."

You stare pointedly at the floor but your hollowed out heart can't hurt more than it does now, so you give in to the temptation of forgetting about those details until you can do anything with them. You nod and he silences, his gaze lifting away from you and out of the window across the New York skyline. He looks for a few moments, but suddenly meets your eyes again, remembering something he should have earlier.

"What about the funeral?" He asks guiltily. You realise you haven't told him when Leo died, or that he's missed it because you didn't have the guts to tell him sooner. Your hands meet your forehead and you sigh deeply.

"I'm really sorry, it was my fault, I didn't know how... I should have told you before..."

Harry remains silent and hangs his head. You wonder if he's blaming himself. You wish he'd never left, because you'd never have gone to Afghanistan, he wouldn't have let you risk your life like that, wouldn't have let Leo risk his. But at the same time, you're glad he came here, that he hasn't had to see the things you saw and he wasn't blown up with Leo.

You squeeze the hand he's still holding and he suddenly looks at you as if he's surprised to remember you're still there, as if he's wondering if this whole thing is just a bad dream. He smiles sadly and pulls you toward him where you find yourself slotting perfectly against him. You didn't notice it go dark, you didn't realise so much time had elapsed since your early morning flight landed, but you're grateful that the darkness waits for you as you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for reviewing!**

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You open your eyes and are surprised to find it's light outside, you've finally slept a full night since Afghanistan. You look up to meet eyes you half thought you'd dreamed up, but a squeeze around your middle reminds you that this is reality, that you're somehow still alive, and you remembered to keep going just long enough. Harry looks down at you with the hints of a smile curving his lips upward. You wonder how long he's been awake but it's long enough to look fresher than you feel. You rub your eye and wipe away the remnants of makeup you hadn't applied for over a week, and realise quite how much you'd lost control. Somehow Harry always manages to ground you.

"Morning." He whispers gently. You smile and shift yourself so he's not supporting so much of your weight, not that you're exactly heavy, considering you'd barely eaten for 3 weeks.

You grimace as an ache grips your shoulder, but it turns into a small smile when you realise that your emotional pain is reducing.

"In hindsight, we should have tried to make it to the bed." Harry chuckles, stretching his arms.

"That sounds worse than it is." You grin. He pulls himself up and asks you if you want any breakfast. You realise that what you want more than anything is a hot shower and a cup of tea, and with horror you realise the extent of your mental state, that your only luggage was your black leather handbag. Harry follows your gaze and seems to innately understand your problem. From a cupboard he pulls two towels and gestures towards the bathroom. You follow him in and he explains that he'll bring some clothes in for you. He shuts the door behind him as you step into the shower, feeling a rush of relief as the warm water caresses your body, easing the harsh mental aches but also the physical exhaustion. You hear the door creak open and Harry innocently claiming to have his eyes closed. You bet he hasn't, but the glass door to the cubicle has misted up enough by now to leave most of you to his imagination. You realise you like this, being here with him.

Once you've washed away the traces of your week's paralysis, you step gently out and dry yourself off, smiling as you button one of Harry's shirts over your chest. You can remember this shirt, it's one you told him you liked once.

He can't help but laugh when you step out of the bathroom, his clothes are miles too big on your slender frame. He walks toward you and takes you into his arms, grinning. You look up at him when you break apart and smile.

"I really missed you, Niks." He whispers. You look to the floor hesitantly, pained by your reminder that he did in fact leave you, that everyone you care about has and evidently always will. You nod, because its all you can do without crying, and you've made it this far today with dry eyes. He pulls you back against his chest and you can feel those perfect lips of his pressing into your scalp, and you're wondering why he has to do it and if he knows how painful it is for you. You focus your mind on the familiar hissing of a nearly boiled kettle, and he drops his arms to go and finish making the tea you didn't have to ask for. He winks at you as you sit yourselves down, tea in hand, but his expression becomes serious and he turns to meet your gaze.

"I shouldn't have left London." He states, and you wonder if this is purely about Leo or if this is something that's plagued him for the last 6 months. You cock your head to the side in question, and he shakes his, sighing, suggesting this involves more than your former boss and friend. You pause for a few minutes, thinking to yourselves in silence about the _what ifs_ and the _whys_, until it overcomes you.

"Why did you leave?" You mutter, just loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough to show how tough it was for you to say. Harry says nothing for a few moments, apparently fascinated by the carpet, until he turns to look up at you with a vulnerability you're not used to seeing from him.

"A few reasons." He sighs, but doesn't break eye contact. "Because this job came up and the opportunity was unmissable, because I didn't have anything tying me to London, and most importantly... Well because I didn't have _anyone_ tying me to London."

You stare at him blankly, wondering if you've really gone through so much pain and hurt at your being abandoned because he couldn't keep a girlfriend.

"That sounds bad." He mumbles, and darts his gaze around the room before resuming his plea to your sympathies. He takes your hand, and, pissed off as you are, you can't resist him. "I didn't mean it like that. It was more that there was a specific someone that didn't seem to feel the same."

You're curious again now, wondering what he's getting at. A part of you that you'd long since caged and buried begins to stir, and no matter how much you try to stop it, hope engulfs you. "Who?" You ask.

Harry surprises you by laughing and leaning back into the chair. He lets go of your hand and crosses his arms defensively, glancing over at your confused expression. You can see his hurt emanating from him, and wonder just how badly this girl wounded him. You almost want to hunt her down and make her pay for what she did to him. You're surprised that you still feel this strongly for someone you've not so much as said hello to for the last six months. You expect that the conversation is now over, so you drag your body around to lean against his, head loosely on his shoulder. You wish he understood how perfectly you fit against him, how clear it had apparently been to everyone that you were made for each other. He presses a kiss into your hair and you smile as he looks out of the window aimlessly.

"Leo always wanted us to be together." He whispers. Your heart stops and an unmistakable pain edges its way back into your bloodstream, two harsh reminders in one sentence. You nod and force yourself to look at Harry. It might be unwise but maybe you could abuse this sensitive moment and snatch a kiss, anything to hold on to. He takes his hand to the back of your neck, thumb rubbing into your hair and he swallows nervously. "Leo wanted us to be together, and so did I."


End file.
